


A Thousand Flowers

by cato_universe



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Good Bro, Courtship, First Kiss, Gavin is an idiot, Gavin is insecure, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Language of Flowers, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nines cant do feelings, Soft Upgraded Connor | RK900, and dense, but he tries, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 09:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cato_universe/pseuds/cato_universe
Summary: Nines courts Gavin with flowers. If only Gavin would notice.orFive times Gavin doesn’t understand the meaning of flowers, and once he does.





	A Thousand Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> **Alternate summary:** Five times Gavin is a dense fuck and one time he gets a clue.
> 
> I've been meaning to write something for this ship for ages! I LOVE soft!RK900, it's a weakness of mine, because I find hilarious how he looks like a scary sob but cannot handle wanting to cuddle and protect and love this mess of a human we call Gavin Reed XD. That's how this was born (also, because Gavin is the least human on the planet suited for a subtle courtship. sorry, Nines. you really screwed up by taking that approach).

**1\. Chrysanthemum**

The first time it happens, to Gavin’s credit, he has just been shot.  
  
When he opens his eyes, although the white ceiling and strong sterile smell tells Gavin he is in the hospital, a wave of adrenaline still makes his heart speed up, makes him jolt on the bed, makes him panic.  
  
Immediately there are voices about him, people he knows. The amber of a LED catches his attention, a familiar face, except the jaw is too narrow, the forehead not wide enough, and the brown eyes are wrong, wrong--  
  
Gavin trashes in bed, trying to get away from the hands that are trying to hold him down. In the eye of his mind all he can see is the gun, the stain of blue blood soaking a white jacket, and he’s afraid. Gavin needs— he needs to find—  
  
It’s only until Nines’ neutral face and stormy eyes fill his vision that Gavin is able to breathe again, to command his body enough to stop shaking.  
  
“You are safe, detective.” Nines whispers into Gavin’s tangled hair, and Gavin is too out of sorts to know what he’s babbling about but Nines’ arms tighten around him suddenly. “Gavin. I’m here.”  
  
He falls into an exhausted sleep, and when he wakes up again it’s to a red, white and violet mass of color sitting on his bedside table.  
  
“The fuck is that?” Gavin mumbles, eyeing the fluffy flowers. His throat feels parched, and he feels slow and drugged and damn if he doesn’t fucking hate hospitals.  
  
“Welcome back, sleeping beauty,” Tina’s voice says from the other side of the bed and Gavin turns, groaning when the movement pulls his stitches. “Seems like you have a secret admirer,” Tina teases, gesturing to the flowers, and Gavin rolls his eyes at her, but it is testament of Tina’s concern that she takes pity on him and hands him an uncapped water bottle. Gavin accepts it and it tastes like heaven, although he would kill for a cup of strong coffee. The good shit, not the crap they drink at the precinct.  
  
“Like hell I do,” he grumbles. The arrangement seems fancy, out of place between the contraband of snacks and chocolate Tina got for him, the flowers mostly deep red, with white and light purple blooms tastefully intermingled.  
  
This is the first time he has ever received flowers, and Gavin would have promptly forgotten about it had he not met Nines’ sharp eyes from the other side of the room.  
  
“Jesus fuck, Nines!” Gavin startles, trying to subdue his wildly beating heart. “Say something if you’re here!”  
  
Nines pulls away from the far wall in a swift movement to stand at the foot of Gavin’s bed.  
  
“My apologies, detective,” he says, head held high and Gavin frowns. With his hands behind his back and his back straight as a needle, this is a pose of Nines’ Gavin has not seen for some months now. It’s from when they couldn’t stand each other and would have sooner come to fists than to an agreement. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Well enough, I guess,” Gavin shrugs, grimacing at the pain the movement causes him. “Won’t die from it, that’s for sure.”  
  
And Gavin’s eyebrows climb in his forehead when Nines’ LED jumps straight to yellow and whirls endlessly. Yellow, yellow, yellow.  
  
“Hey, tin can,” Gavin begins after an awkward silence. “Are you—?”  
  
“I am glad you find yourself feeling better,” Nines interrupts. He stares at Gavin, blue eyes burning with something that makes Gavin’s stomach twist, intense and heavy. Then, strangely, his eyes slide briefly to the flower arrangement sitting on Gavin’s bedside table and for a wild moment he looks uncertain, like he is going to say something important.  
  
Gavin cannot tear his eyes from him.  
  
But then, as if he has decided something, Nines nods and turns in his heels, leaving the room in two long strides and softly closing the door behind him.  
  
“That wasn’t weird at all,” Tina says, cheerfully. Gavin blinks at the door, disoriented, trying to pierce together what just happened. “He has barely left your side. I don’t think anyone really thought he had feelings until yesterday. Let me tell you, he’s a scary motherfucker when he’s upset. Connor had to come talk him down.”  
  
Uncomfortable, Gavin nods, swallowing against emotion. He hates hospitals. He hates the smell of them, the white lights that shine in your face all the time, the way nurses won’t let you sleep whenever you want to.  
  
He hates the rawness of it, the weakness of his body, the cracks on the facade he puts for the world, the vulnerability of other people’s concern.  
  
So Gavin does what he always does when he feels uncomfortable: he ignores Tina’s statement and resolutely stares at the mysterious flowers to avoid dealing with his feelings. He looks at a particularly beautiful bloom until the red is a blur behind his eyelids and his eyes are too heavy to be kept open.

**  
*  
  
2\. Carnation  
  
**The second time happens because of some lady on the street handing out flowers.  
  
It’s a couple of weeks after Gavin is out of the hospital, and he would like nothing more than to say things are back to normal except they aren’t.  
  
Nines has been odd of late. He tries to hide it, Gavin is sure, but he can still tell. Gone is the easy camaraderie of the past months. Nines is tense around him all the time now, stepping subtly aside when Gavin elbows him after an unfunny joke. Staring at him, LED yellow, when he thinks Gavin doesn’t notice.  
  
Gavin notices. And it hurts because he had known his odd friendship with Nines, like everything good in his life, would not last forever, but he had thought he might manage not to screw up for a while longer.  
  
Which is why it baffles him when Nines offers him the flower.  
  
The woman is handing carnations in the street, a campaign of some sort, Gavin does not pay much attention even when the speckled flower is pressed into his hands. Gavin eyes it suspiciously, as if it might bite. It’s a white flower, with the tips tainted red, and in truth Gavin does not think much about it either way and keeps walking.  
  
Nine’s voice stops him.  
  
“Gavin,” Nines calls, and when Gavin turns, the android is offering him the carnation he got from the woman, the perfect deep crimson of its petals a stark contrast against Nine’s pale hands.  
  
Gavin stills.  
  
When he finally looks up to Nines’ face, he finds something soft in his expression Gavin does not know how to interpret. Nines' eyes are gentle, staring at Gavin with that same disarming intensity Gavin suddenly remembers from the hospital, and his LED is whirling yellow again.  
  
Nervous, Gavin swallows, trying to subdue his beating heart.  
  
“Is this your new hobby, tin can?” he deflects, grinning, and, as casually as he can, takes a step forward to press his own striped carnation against Nine’s chest. “Here, you can have mine too. Now come on. The case won’t solve itself.”  
  
And because he’s in a hurry to escape the weight of the situation, when Gavin turns he doesn’t see Nines’ LED turn red as he stares at both the flowers in his hands. **  
  
  
*  
  
  
3\. Camelia  
  
**The third time is because of Connor.  
  
They are sitting at their desks after a long shift, finishing the last of the paperwork before going home. Concentrated as he is in an effort to be done and leave soon, Gavin does not pay attention to what Nines is doing until Connor wanders over to him.  
  
“What is it?” Connor asks, and Gavin raises his eyes from his computer screen.  
  
In the desk across of his, Nines is neatly working on a blue sheet of paper, folding it with a delicacy and dexterity Gavin is sure not even Connor has. In front of him, he already has a yellow paper butterfly and Gavin cannot help but stare, not having known about this talent of Nines’.  
  
“A crane,” Nines answers Connor, and as if feeling Gavin’s eyes on him he looks up, holding Gavin’s gaze unflinchingly.  
  
“You picking up hobbies left and right, ain’t you, tin can?” Gavin says to break the silence, relieved when he’s rewarded by the slightest curl of Nines’ mouth.  
  
“Origami is an endeavor that engages my fine motor skills,” Nines explains. “A calibration exercise of sorts, one might say.”  
  
“And much less annoying than coin tricks,” Hank intervenes, coming over to see what the fuss is about.  
  
Unbothered by the audience, Nines finishes the blue crane and places it, perfect as it is, on Connor’s hands.  
  
“Really?” Connor asks, brightening up like he has been offered a precious gift and not just a paper craft.  
  
“Of course. It was your suggestion that led me to this hobby,” Nines answers, and Gavin huffs, returning his attention back to his screen, firmly telling himself he’s not jealous. However, he has barely typed a word when Nines’ voice calls to him: “Would you like one as well, detective?”  
  
Taken aback, Gavin stares dumbly as Nines picks out a red sheet of paper and begins to fold it without waiting for an answer. He watches Nines' hands as if in trance, long fingers that press the paper both firmly and with a delicacy at odds with the dangerous air that so easily exudes from the android.  
  
“Here,” Nines says when he’s done, and when he extends the red flower towards Gavin, the man cannot help but feel like this has happened before.  
  
“T-thanks,” Gavin mumbles as he accepts it, feeling his ears turn red for some reason. He immediately retreats behind his computer, making a show out of typing his report and trying desperately to keep his face impassive as not to give away his inner turmoil.  
  
The flower remains abandoned in Gavin’s desk until Hank and Connor leave, but when no one is looking Gavin makes sure to carefully place it in his drawer. **  
  
  
*  
  
  
4\. Forget me not  
  
**The fourth time is when a small flower pot is placed on top of his desk, unceremoniously.  
  
“What the fuck is this?” Gavin asks, looking from the clusters of blue flowers up to the android’s face.  
  
“These are flowers, detective,” Nines answers in that snotty deadpan that always makes Gavin want to punch him.  
  
“No shit, Sherlock. But why the hell—“  
  
“For you,” Nines interrupts him, so forcefully that Gavin’s attention snaps immediately back to him.  
  
Confused, Gavin looks between the small flowers —growing from a pot the same deep color as thirium— and Nines. The joke he wants to make dies on his lips at the android’s expression. Nines’ eyes are intense, looking at Gavin with a laser-like focus that makes him feel hot all over, and suddenly there’s no one else in the world but the two of them and that thick tension that Gavin cannot longer pretend doesn’t exist between them.  
  
Throat dry, Gavin licks his lips, and Nines traces the movement.  
  
“Gavin—“ Nines begins, but suddenly a door slams somewhere and Gavin flinches. They are in the precinct again, in an open office space surrounded by the people Gavin works with everyday, and it’s too much.  
  
Gavin jumps from his chair, feeling so exposed it’s almost painful, and mumbles something about coffee as he pretty much runs towards the break room and away from Nines, his intense eyes, and all the things Gavin has convinced himself he cannot possibly want.  
**  
  
*  
  
  
5\. Tulip  
  
**The fifth time is on Gavin’s birthday.  
  
A shit day, but Gavin is used to that. He and Nines had run around the city since early in the morning, so it comes as a surprise when they are done around seven, returning to the precinct just in time to catch everyone with normal shifts checking out to go home.  
  
And hell, maybe Gavin will do the same. This year as well no one has acknowledged his birthday. That’s how Gavin likes it, but still he thinks that, although it’s Thursday, he might as well end the day early and swing to a bar. He could do with either a fight or a fuck.  
  
He doesn’t expect the small crowd standing around his desk, but he’s annoyed none the less.  
  
“What the fuck?” he asks, and when he sees Tina’s bright grin he knows that whatever it is will be trouble for him.  
  
“A birthday present,” Tina answers, the traitor, and it’s only then that Gavin sees the bouquet on his desk.  
  
Tulips.  
  
The flowers are deep crimson, tastefully wrapped in white paper, tied with a ribbon. The flowers are beautiful and obviously expensive, and something hot twists in Gavin’s chest at the sight.  
  
“You have a secret admirer, Reed?” Hank teases, and the five or six people around Gavin’s desk titter.  
  
Gavin flushes scarlet in embarrassment because he knows how it is. They are mocking him. None of them believe someone would ever be interested enough in Gavin under normal circumstances, much less to send him flowers on his birthday.  
  
“Fuck off,” Gavin tells them, flipping Hank off. Without making eye contact with anyone he abruptly grabs the flowers from his desk and makes a beeline to the door. And because he doesn’t look back, Gavin doesn’t see Connor’s reproving glare directed at Hank, or Nines’ yellow LED as he stares after him.  
  
No, dropping all his half-made plans, Gavin goes straight home.  
  
In auto pilot, he feeds his cat, finds a vase, fills it with water and places the flowers on the counter. Then he touches a soft petal, a gentle caress with only one fingertip all he dares, and curses, curling into himself until he’s on the floor.  
  
“Shit,” he says, trying to control his beating heart. “Shit.” Because the bouquet has no card and there’s no way to be certain who is it from, and Gavin is not going to allow himself to believe things that won’t come true. **  
  
  
*  
  
  
(+1) Roses  
  
**Gavin is working late at night when Connor intercepts him.  
  
The precinct is empty. On his computer, Gavin is half-heartedly working on his reports, pretending that he has not been taking odd shifts the past few weeks because he’s avoiding Nines.  
  
He is, of course, avoiding Nines.  
  
After the bouquet fiasco —from which he may or may not have kept a single tulip, carefully pressed between the pages of a worn fantasy novel, although he will never admit it to anyone— Gavin decides maybe Nines had the right idea about putting a bit of space between them and so he had retreated as much as he had been able from someone he had to closely work with everyday.  
  
Space is the answer, he’d decided half-way into a bottle of whiskey. No better way to cool whatever weird confusing feelings he’s having for his android partner.  
  
Except, of course, it hasn’t worked. Nines is still oddly rigid around him, tensing whenever Gavin even brushes against him by accident. And Gavin—  
  
Well, Gavin cannot take off his mind of the very real possibility the flowers came from Nines. He cannot stop himself from looking at Nines’ hands, noticing the way he moves, the way the android’s face remains impassive but his blue eyes shine with amusement or mocking, or whatever Nines feels at the moment.  
  
Gavin knows he’s fucked, but he cannot help but look at Nines, at his broad shoulders filling his white jacket, at the small curve of his mouth as he smirks, and _want_.  
  
And so one night, two weeks into his concentrated effort to avoid Nines as much as possible, Connor approaches his desk, appearing out of nowhere.  
  
“Detective,” Connor greets him, polite as usual, and Gavin sighs, aggravated. So much for a little peace and quiet.  
  
“What?” Gavin answers, but even he knows it has no bite. He’s tired, and although he usually would be delighted to make himself as disagreeable as possible, today Gavin feels too drained and empty to care.  
  
“Those are pretty flowers you have on your desk,” Connor says, apropos to nothing, and Gavin looks around, wondering if he has finally snapped and he’s now crazy. “Forget me nots.”  
  
Gavin looks up at Connor, trying to figure out if he’s being mocked. The little blue flowers have been sitting innocently on his desk for a couple months now, and Gavin has grown attached to them. They are pretty in their own delicate way, and they do liven up the place. And if the blue reminds him of the eyes of an android he knows, he’s sure as hell never going to confess it.  
  
Connor returns Gavin’s stare, face set in that politely interested expression he has by default. Not that it means anything, but Gavin cannot find traces of mocking.  
  
“Look. Was there something you wanted,” he begins, “or—“  
  
“Detective, did you know most flowers have meanings?” Connor keeps talking as if Gavin hasn’t said anything.  
  
Gavin blinks. After a long, awkward silence, he shrugs.  
  
“I...did not know that.”  
  
“They do,” Connor informs him helpfully, warming up to his subject. “Various cultures through the ages have assigned symbolic meanings to plants, which have been used to convey a wide array of feelings to the recipient of, in this case, flowers. Red chrysanthemums, for example, mean love and deep passion. White chrysanthemums are meant to mean loyalty and honesty, and purple ones are used to convey a wish to get well.”  
  
Connor smiles at Gavin after his little lecture, looking at the man with an eager sort of expectancy.  
  
“—okay?”  
  
“And camellias, such as the paper one you keep on your drawer,” and Gavin startles, because how the fuck had the little shit known about that? “mean—“  
  
“Okay, okay, I get it!” snaps Gavin, hating himself when he feels the blush begin on his cheeks. “Fucking—I’m working here okay?”  
  
Connor looks at him for a long moment, as if measuring him, and Gavin is unbalanced enough that he cannot bear the scrutiny. Gritting his teeth, he returns to his half-done report, writing whatever just to get the point across to this annoying android he doesn’t know how to handle.  
  
“Of course, detective,” Connor concedes after a while. His voice is soft, and Gavin absolutely does not tear his eyes from his computer. “I will see you around tomorrow then. Good night.”  
  
He listens for Connor’s steps until he leaves the office, and once he is alone Gavin draws a deep breath, rubs his eyes angrily. Besides his computer, the little blue flowers are blooming, bright and beautiful, and Gavin’s tired mind reminds him he has to water them before going home.  
  
He is able to resist for five whole minutes until he pulls up the internet browser and searches for the flowers’ meaning.  
  
**Forget me not**  
_True and undying love, fidelity and loyalty in a relationship, despite separation or other challenges. A connection that lasts through time._  
  
Gavin stares at the words so long that they lose their meaning. Stares until he thinks he must have forgotten how to read.  
  
With trembling fingers, he searches again.  
  
**Camelia**  
_Red camellia: love, passion, and deep desire._  
  
Gavin’s blood rushes through his ears like a roar as he does a final search.  
  
**Tulips**  
_Undying passionate love, whether the passion is spurned or returned._  
  
He flushes violently, a hand going up to cover half his face, overtaken by so many emotions he doesn’t know how to feel.  
  
“Fuck,” is all he says in the end. Gavin returns to his report eventually, although it’s a very long time until his heart stops beating like crazy in his chest. It seems to struggle against the cage of his ribs, as if trying to get out and fly somewhere else, and Gavin tries not to think where to.  
  
*  
  
He doesn’t sleep that night.  
  
When he arrives home at about five am after his shift, although he’s exhausted, Gavin cannot sleep. Instead he paces his flat like crazy, mussing up his hair, trying to figure out what to do with the realization that makes him feel hot and cold by turns.  
  
Because Nines— apparently Nines—  
  
Gavin curses inventively, and after a while even his cat hides under the couch, unnerved by the maniac energy Gavin doesn’t know what to do with.  
  
At 10 am on the dot, Gavin’s doorbell rings, making him startle so much that he overturns a glass of water he carelessly placed on the kitchen counter. It goes crashing onto the floor, shattering into a million pieces.  
  
“Fucking hell,” Gavin growls. He’s crouching down to pick up the biggest of the glass shards when the doorbell rings again. And a third time when Gavin ignores it. “Damn, okay!” he yells at the door, harried. “I’m coming!”  
  
So when he throws the door open a little more violently than necessary, Gavin is a mess— mussed hair all over the place, bags under his eyes, wrinkled clothes from the day before. And on the other side of the door, looking as immaculate as always, Nines is standing with an armful of flowers, his LED softly glowing the same red as the roses.  
  
Gavin’s heart stops for several moments, eyes flying between the roses, Nines’ blinking LED and the strangely pleading expression in his face.  
  
“You?” Gavin whispers, stupidly.  
  
“Please, let me explain,” Nines begins, as if he’d been caught committing a crime and not just showing up at Gavin’s doorstep with an armful of roses. “Even though I have deviated, I am no good with feelings. When you were shot—that time— that bullet was meant for me.” Nines says it like it haunts him, and yeah, perhaps they should have talked about that.  
  
“Nines—“  
  
“And I realized how human you are.” Gavin flinches, but Nines takes a step forward, a pleading hand reaching out but not quite daring to touch. “No, Gavin, listen to me. You are going to die one day. Time is fleeting. And I realized I would be a fool not to try and use that time to get what I want, if there is even a small chance—“  
  
“What you want, huh?” the man’s face is unreadable.  
  
“Gavin, please let me—“  
  
“Oh my god, shut up,” Gavin snaps. In one single step he clears the distance between himself and Nines until they are almost flush together. Distracted by the bulk of the flowers between them, Gavin takes a second to finger a petal, feeling its soft texture between his thumb and index finger. “Even I know what red roses mean, okay?”  
  
And Gavin, taking advantage of not having his hands occupied by a bouquet of roses, grabs the lapels of Nines’ jacket and pulls him down for a kiss.  
**  
  
*  
  
  
(+2) 1000 flowers  
  
**“Hey, Reed!” someone shouts from the hallway that leads to the precinct’s reception desk. “Again for you!”  
  
Blushing, because he will never get completely used to this no matter how many times it happens, Gavin stands from his chair and goes sign for his flowers. Around him, his colleagues wolf whistle and chuckle, but Gavin doesn’t mind them. He just has eyes for Nines, who is peacefully sitting across Gavin, a subtle smirk on his usually impassive face.  
  
“That secret admirer sure is persistent!” Hank calls from the back of the room, and Gavin simply flips him off, smiling secretly to himself.  
  
In his desk, the forget me nots bloom unimpeded next to a cup filled with a dozen colorful paper flowers. **  
  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> So, the ones we were missing:
> 
> Dark red carnations denote love and affection, while striped ones symbolize regret that a love cannot be shared. (Yeah, Gavin broke Nines' heart right there, I'm crying.)
> 
> Red roses' meaning is more commonly known: romantic love, longing and desire. No more subtle Nines here. Connor might have given him pointers.


End file.
